


Whole

by mansikka



Series: A Soulmate's Scrawl [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Human Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:38:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7198238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><div class="center">
  <p> <img/> </p>
</div><i>Taken</i><p>Dean lets out an involuntary snort at the word that's just been etched wide enough for anyone to see on his forearm and then winces, peering back at his class through half screwed-up eyes, because he’s pretty sure they’ve noticed it too.</p><p>Sure enough, there are a few twitches of lips, and a couple of lingering looks in the direction of his arm, but no actual comments, for which Dean is very, very grateful.</p><p>College students, Dean thinks, are a lot easier on him with things like this than his old high school ones ever were.</p><hr/>
            </blockquote>





	Whole

**Author's Note:**

> Hello :)
> 
> This is the final fic for the A Soulmate's Scrawl series. It was never intended to be a series, but you seemed to enjoy it enough to make me enjoy writing more! So... here you are :)
> 
> Thank you for reading :)
> 
> x

_Taken_

Dean lets out an involuntary snort at the word that's just been etched wide enough for anyone to see on his forearm and then winces, peering back at his class through half screwed-up eyes, because he’s pretty sure they’ve noticed it too.

Sure enough, there are a few twitches of lips, and a couple of lingering looks in the direction of his arm, but no actual comments, for which Dean is very, very grateful.

College students, Dean thinks, are a lot easier on him with things like this than his old high school ones ever were.

Dean clears his throat, offers his own brief rueful smile at the interruption, then continues his discussion about the need for recognition of digital art alongside the more regular kind, attempting to carry on as though he isn’t now thoroughly distracted.

Cas isn't usually possessive, although for some reason Dean feels a slight thrill swirl through him at the thought of him being so. He's even kind of smug about the way this possessive streak was revealed not so long ago, right on this very campus.

It was an open evening at the college where Dean's class were displaying some of their best pieces of work to perspective students. Cas had arrived with that same proud look on his face that he wore for every event he attended of Dean’s, looking around the college with interest and no doubt storing up multiple questions he intended to ask Dean once the evening was over.

Cas had watched Dean from across the room as several of his students, and more embarrassingly, their parents, flirted and touched Dean so openly, that Cas' usually happy face took on an almost permanent scowl, not ten minutes into the evening.

The touching continued, despite Dean’s obvious discomfort, and Cas’ undisguised seething. It was nothing big, nothing overly obvious. It was, however, very much unwanted, and as Dean grew more and more uncomfortable, Cas’ fury heightened.

Cas was watching with ever-narrowing eyebrows as one mother sashayed up to Dean with an exaggerated swivel of her hips in a red dress that clung to all the places it should, as well as some that it probably shouldn’t, and without any warning or hesitation placed a firm hand on Dean’s ass, and squeezed.

Dean’s eyes grew wide as saucers, and the conversation he’d been having came to an abrupt, stuttering halt.

Knowing that Dean could handle himself, and would probably not appreciate direct interference, Cas let out an audible huff that caught Dean’s attention from across the room as Dean tactfully side-stepped out of the woman’s grasp.

With the slightest of glances, Cas had looked down at Dean’s arm, that was clad only in a t-shirt. He’d then looked back up briefly, before forcefully shoving up his own sleeve and pulling out an ever-present pen from his pocket. Dean’s eyes had dropped away to the pen in Cas’ fingers as he wrote, and then ran a soft palm up his arm as he began to feel Cas’ writing appear across his skin.

With deliberately large lettering, Cas had written a very deliberately suggestive poem on Dean’s arm, suggestive enough for the tips of Dean’s ears to blush red. The blushing was in part caused by the words, but also at the very obvious way Cas was staking his claim on him. And how much Dean actually enjoyed being claimed.

But the parent in question took one look at Dean’s arm and very quickly got the message, scuttling away with her cheeks almost as red as the dress she was wearing.

Cas might have watched her leave through narrowed eyes, then very deliberately walked over and pressed himself into Dean's side as he spoke to another of the mothers who clearly had no idea what personal space meant.

And he may have also at the end of the night, very deliberately, stood on unnecessary tiptoe to kiss Dean long, and leisurely, right in front of three of his own class that were swooning over him next to the Impala with absolutely no shame.

Dean enjoyed every moment of Cas' reactions throughout the night, and thoroughly made it up to him when they finally got home later, kissing away his grumbles and unable to keep the smirk from lighting up his face.

What Dean enjoyed even more was the overheard, whispered conversations the following morning, about how hot his boyfriend was, and just how good they looked together. Cas might have puffed his chest out a little to hear some of that.

Dean closes his eyes briefly as he remembers very clearly just how very turned on he’d been by the whole thing at the time, and wills his trousers not to tighten any more than they already have at just the sight of that one, short word, _taken_.

Dean forces himself to contain the grin threatening to erupt at the memory, and tries to rein in his focus on the students in front of him once again.

But as some of the group are really getting into a heated debate over whether the filters on Snapchat and Instagram count as artistic tools or not, Dean finds his mind unconsciously wandering away again anyway.

He's working on a painting himself at the moment that he's itching to get back to, mentally tracing the outlines of his brushwork and contemplating an experimental use of colour. Cas had taken him to an arts and crafts store just last week and insisted on buying him a ridiculous amount of materials to celebrate a successful exhibition of his work in the local gallery, and he is slowly putting each and every one of those materials to good use.

The first piece Dean had exhibited when they moved here was a re-imagining of that first angel drawing he had so long ago etched on his arm before he and Cas had actually met. Cas had specifically asked for it, shyly scrolling through the photos he kept on his phone and sliding it into Dean's lap when he'd found the one he was looking for, the soft smile that curved up his lips showing just how much it meant to him that Dean would do this for him.

Now, _Thursday_ stands tall, and proud, an oil on canvas portrait for anyone to see should they visit the gallery exhibition. Dean had spent hours trying to come up with something more profound as a title, contemplating _My Angel_ and _Awakening,_ and all kinds of sappy in betweens. But Cas had peered over his shoulder as he scribbled away and scratched out different ideas, before silently reaching over to write his own simple suggestion as he pressed kisses down the length of Dean's neck.

 _Thursday_ had stuck. And has been very well received.

Cas is quite shy about Dean painting or sketching him still, despite the countless mornings he’s woken to find Dean perched at the end of their bed with a pencil and sketchbook in hand, drawing Cas as he sleeps. He's agreed for Dean to use some of those sketches to create his latest piece, yet blushes crimson at every compliment and appreciative look Dean gives him as he draws.

Dean's mouth twists up into another wolfish grin at the thought of how he'd got so very distracted just this morning when trying to draw Cas, and his fingers ghost over the slightly wounded skin in the hollow of his neck that happened as a result.

Really, Dean thinks, scolding himself once more for his lack of concentration, it shouldn't be possible that every single thing he thinks about leads him straight back to Cas.

But even after all this time, it is.

It's a week after Spring Break, and everyone is back on board with studying, with a level of enthusiasm that Dean is both surprised and relieved to see. He's been here just long enough to stop feeling weird walking through the same corridors he once tread as a student himself, yet still feel the thrill of being new. Dean's colleagues are fun, welcoming people, and his art is also being received better than he could ever have dreamed of. And his salary is beyond what he could have imagined; it almost makes him feel guilty that he earns so much from simply doing what he loves every day.

Life is good, and that isn't even taking into account just how happy he is at home.

He and Cas moved here towards the end of summer, with Sam driving a hired removal van and Dean the Impala, both jammed to bursting with his and Cas’ personal possessions. They’d taken a mixture of furniture from both of their apartments, and it hadn’t taken long for both them, and the cat, to feel right at home.

Dean feels another shiver run through him then at the memory of their first night in their new home, and how barely one minute of it had been spent sleeping, then clears his now-dry throat once again.

The clock ticks on, teasingly slowly, as though this lesson is some sort of purgatory for his sinful thinking.

Somewhere in the middle of the lesson that never seems to end, Dean find the time to scrawl back:

_Always yours to take ;) x_

* * *

When Dean arrives home, he takes in the way the cat rolls over and scrutinizes him briefly through slit eyes, and the silence throughout the apartment, and realizes that Cas must be working elsewhere today.

Cas’ work has continued pretty much as it had before their move; one of the deciding factors for Dean taking this job was just how portable Cas’ workload really was, because there was no way in hell he was moving anywhere without Cas by his side. Or stopping Cas from doing what he loves.

Cas is even making tentative comments about a book he’s working on when he has free time; something that Dean knows Cas has been wanting to do since long before they met. The thought of it makes the corners of Dean’s mouth turn up into a fond grin, since Cas had once told him he’d only ever be able to work on something like a novel if he was truly and utterly content with his own life.

Dean is proud that he is part of what makes Cas content, if not a little humbled by that knowledge.

Dean guesses that Cas is currently at his favorite coffee shop; a tiny little establishment a couple of blocks from their home, with well-worn wooden furniture stacked with thick, springy cushions, and serving some of the best desserts and coffees they have both ever tasted.

Dean’s mouth waters and his mind wanders for a moment as he considers taking a walk to see if his suspicion about Cas’ location is correct, but the urge that hit him earlier today to get back to his painting wins out.

Quickly changing into an already paint-stained t-shirt and jeans, Dean stands barefoot in the room Cas calls his _studio_ , surveying his work with a slight tilt to his head that he isn’t aware is at exactly the same angle as Cas’.

When he’s happy, Dean approaches his painting, running his fingers over the simple outlines he’s penciled on first, and then reaches for his paints.

And Dean is lost.

Painting for Dean is almost a kind of meditation. With nothing other than Cas able to distract him in quite the same way, Dean finds he can mix rich colors and smooth brush strokes on to his canvas as though the art he is producing is creating itself of its own free will.

When painting, Dean is at his calmest, most content, most _whole_ ; it has never escaped Dean’s notice that the feeling of completeness he gets from painting is like a muted version of what he gets from being with Cas.

That they are good together, and good for one another, is a crude and belittling observation of just how perfect their life together really is, and even when Dean is here, completely absorbed in the art he is working on, thoughts of Cas are never far from his mind.

Minutes bleed into an hour, and another, and the image on the canvas molds and shifts as though it is lit by dancing candlelight.

Dean paints on.

It isn’t until he’s squinting at the canvas in the dying light of the day that Dean realizes the passage of time, and as if Cas is also aware of that very moment too, Dean looks down at his arm to find the beginning of a message tickling its way into his skin.

_Do you feel like meeting me for a coffee here? There’s a slice of pie in it for you if you feed the cat before you leave… ;)_

_x_

Dean grins down at his arm, and quickly rinses through his brushes with practiced accuracy, shrugs into his other clothes, scribbles back a quick

_on my way ;) x_

and bends down to scoop up both the cat and its bowl.

Safe in the knowledge that Cas isn’t there to tease him, Dean pulls out the pack of cat food pouches and spreads them on the counter, cradling the cat in the crook of his arm and holding each of the pouches up for inspection. The cat twitches its nose at some and downright wrinkles its face up at others, and Dean chooses to use this as an indicator of some kind of preference.

Pouch selected, Dean quickly squeezes the meat out with a grimace at the smell, tops up the bowl of water next to the offensive-looking meal, and grabs his keys, heading out less than ten minutes after Cas’ message.

* * *

Dean parks on the street just outside the cafe and for a moment just sits and watches Cas in the window. As expected, Cas is in his normal seat; Cas says he likes this spot so that if he needs a break he can people watch, but if Cas has ever needed a moment away from his work to find the perfect words, Dean is yet to see it.

Cas’ writing is phenomenal, there is no other way for Dean to describe it. It doesn’t matter what he writes, because whatever the content, Dean is inspired. To care about things he’s never even considered, to take action in situations where he’s always been passive. To give, to take, to expect _more_ , and not just from the world around him, but from himself as well.

Cas inspires Dean, every single day of their lives together, and he could happily sit here grinning stupidly at Cas as he works. But what’s the point of just observing the best thing in his world, when he could be right in there with him instead?

Dean enters the cafe seconds later, smiling at the light tinkling of the bell above the door. Cas still hasn’t seen him approach, and that just makes Dean’s grin spill wider. It takes for Dean to be standing directly in Cas’ eyeline and looming over him for Cas to notice, and when he does, the startled expression Dean receives as a result just makes that grin roll out into a full chuckle.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, the amusement dancing across his tone as he reaches out to thread his fingers through the back of Cas’ hair, then leans down to kiss him.

Feeling Cas’ lips curve up into a smile against his own is probably one of Dean’s favorite feelings.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas rumbles in response once Dean eventually pulls back, and the gruffness of his voice indicates to Dean just how long Cas has been sat there without conversation.

Cas is here so often that the waiting staff just refill his coffee every hour or so without asking, and even sometimes slide a piece of cake or pie on to the table beside the laptop as Cas thanks them absently. So at least Dean knows he’s probably eaten today, if nothing else.

Cas reaches up and snags his fingers through Dean’s, squeezing softly and smiling up at him as though Dean is the very best thing in his world too.

Dean still has to pinch himself sometimes that he gets to have this.

With another squeeze, Cas is guiding Dean to sit down beside him rather than across from him, and grabs the attention of a passing waitress to order something for Dean. When the order is placed, Cas reaches out for the laptop, clicks through a couple of open windows to close them down, then turns the laptop for Dean to read.

Dean is engrossed by the end of the first line, his fingers absently trailing a pattern over Cas’ pant leg where their entwined hands have come to rest as he reads.

“What do you think?” Cas asks, his lip trapped between his teeth as he eyes Dean nervously.

Dean shakes his head, laughs, and dips in for another kiss. He’ll never understand how Cas can ever doubt himself, with his talent for finding exactly the right words at all times.

“Awesome, Cas. As always. Seriously,” Dean assures him, then is distracted for a second by the sight of a large slice of one of the best apple pies he’s ever tasted aside from what he remembers of his mom’s. The waitress delivering it along with coffee smiles at them both, her smile flicking just that little bit wider when she takes in their joined hands.

Without a moment of pause, Dean is scooping up a forkful of the pie and swallowing around it sinfully, smirking knowingly at the slight narrowing of Cas’ eyebrows and the release of his lip from his teeth as he watches Dean.

“Tastes good, Cas. Want some?”

Dean goes to scoop up another forkful but is stopped by Cas leaning forward and capturing his mouth again, sweeping his tongue inside Dean’s mouth and tasting the flavor there.

“Tastes better on you,” Cas tells him quietly, and there’s a promise in his tone that makes Dean’s jeans tighten all over again, and think about how quickly they can get home.

“So why’d you invite me down here if you’re just gonna sit here and say stuff to me that makes me wanna get you home faster than is legal?” Dean asks, and Cas lets out a low chuckle, leaning in for yet another brief kiss.

“My invite was somewhat… counterproductive,” Cas admits, running his free hand across his face as though to chase away tiredness. “I wanted to see you, but I also wanted to finish some more writing and I knew it would take me a little while longer. I thought perhaps we could eat out tonight.”

Dean’s eyes immediately drift across the street to a Thai restaurant that they both like, and he licks his lips unconsciously.

“So what was the pie for if you don’t want me to ruin my appetite?” Dean asks, curious but digging into the pie nonetheless.

“It was a peace offering,” Cas confesses, suddenly looking every part guilty.

“For what?” And Dean finds his interest spiking enough for him to pause with the fork halfway to his mouth, because Cas is wriggling in his seat and looking everywhere but at Dean.

“I may be a while,” Cas begins, and Dean sees right through him; that might be true, but there’s clearly something else as well.

“That’s fine. I bought my tablet,” Dean shrugs easily, pulling it out of his bag. “But that’s not all, is it?”

Instantly, Cas winces, scrunching up his eyes in a way that splits Dean’s smile even wider.

“I may have… run into an… acquaintance of yours today,” Cas then admits, carefully continuing to keep his eyes elsewhere while his cheeks take on a hint of blush.

“Who?”

“I.... do not recall her name. She is the mother of the student of yours with that… garish pink collage of love hearts and glitter,” Cas bites out the last word as though he finds it truly distasteful in his mouth.

Dean starts laughing, his mind instantly bringing up the image Cas has just described and agreeing totally. Becky does have a great talent for art, which is how she ended up on the program that he teaches in the first place, but sometimes her choices leave Dean fighting back a grimace of despair.

“Right. So what’s Becky’s mom done to you?” Dean asks around another forkful of pie.

Cas shifts uncomfortably on his seat, his eyes darting away again.

“She… she was the one at the… at the open evening. The one who…”

Cas’ words trail away in discomfort, and Dean fills in the gaps and remembers.

“Oh. _That_ one.”

“Yes,” Cas agrees, unhappy. “ _That_ one.”

“So…” Dean prompts, shifting a little uncomfortably himself at the memory of her and her wandering hands.

“So perhaps I was a little… obnoxious when I spoke to her,” Cas begins with, hesitantly, looking over at Dean to gauge his reaction.

“Good,” Dean encourages, smiling, scraping up the last mouthful of pie and smacking his lips around it.

“Perhaps I also… insinuated… things. About our relationship,”

Dean splutters around the sip of coffee he’s just taken and Cas is quickly slapping him on the back, mumbling apologies at him. Dean coughs, and clears his throat, shaking his head and holding out his hand to show Cas that he is okay, and to tell him to continue.

“What kinda things, Cas?”

Now Cas’ cheeks are distinctly crimson, and it takes a couple of tries as he opens his mouth to form the words but instantly closes it again, before he sighs heavily, and runs a placating thumb over the back of Dean’s hand.

“I might have indicated that… that…”

“Cas,” Dean prompts, squeezing Cas’ hand again.

Cas suddenly presses his palm over his face across the bridge of his nose, in an attempt to hide all of his blushes.

“...I… make… um… that you are often satisfied,” Cas eventually stammers out, peeking at Dean between his fingers.

Dean throws his head back and howls with laughter, then leans in, pulling Cas’s hand from his face. “Understatement,” he mumbles, before closing the gap between them and kissing Cas long, and thoroughly, with a hand pressed across Cas’ cheek, stroking him in reassurance.

When he pulls away, Cas’ cheeks are an even brighter shade, and he huffs out a little amused breath, briefly nuzzling into Dean’s shoulder before tipping his head towards his laptop.

Dean smiles, kisses him again, then moves his chair opposite Cas and settles his tablet on his lap. He watches Cas resume his typing again for a moment, then opens up his Astropad app, tapping the stylus idly against the side of the tablet as he continues to watch Cas whilst he works.

Dean’s lips curve up into a grin, and he begins to sketch an oblivious Cas as he types away almost non-stop at his laptop. Dean captures the slight swell of Cas’ lip that he’s been worrying at, the stubble that shades his jaw, and the crinkle around the edge of his eyes that Dean will never not find cute.

One of Dean’s favorite things to do when sketching Cas like this is trying to capture the actual blue of his eyes. He’s got close, but never quite enough: he’s still adamant that Cas is clearly some kind of other-worldly creature because of this. Cas blushes furiously every single time Dean brings this up, which is often.

Dean’s study of Cas continues for a while, and they both appear to have lost track of time once again. But Dean can tell when Cas is coming to the end of a piece of writing. His typing becomes frenetic, his stare more intense, and he leans forward in his chair at an angle that only someone who is really studying him would notice. Which of course, Dean is.

With a nod to himself and a determined huff under his breath, Cas’ fingers fly over the keyboard for another couple of minutes, and then he’s pushing back in his chair with a look that speaks of satisfaction at a piece of work completed.

Which is when he looks over at Dean, and realizes he’s been the object of his attention for however long this piece of work has taken. The inevitable blush creeps back across his cheeks and down his neck, and Dean is powerless to resist the lure of leaning in and kissing him again.

Wordlessly, Dean spins the tablet in his fingers to give Cas a look; Cas grins, delighted though shy to see his face there held so delicately between Dean’s palms.

“What are you going to do with this one?” Cas asks, his fingers reaching out but not quite touching the screen.

Dean shrugs. “Never gonna get sick of drawing you, Cas. Doesn’t have to be for any reason other than I just wanna do it.”

The smile Cas gives in response is, Dean thinks, worth it.

“Can I take you to dinner?” Cas mumbles against Dean’s lips as he leans in, hand curling around the base of Dean’s neck and his fingers flexing through his hair as he speaks.

Dean nods, grinning back as he stands. He extends a hand to pull Cas to his feet, but ends up with Cas pressed flush against him and kissing him once more. Dean huffs in amusement, but loops his arm around Cas’ shoulders as soon as Cas has gathered his things together, and guides him out of the cafe with a brief wave goodbye to the waitress who is staring after them as though they are the most adorable thing she has ever seen.

* * *

Something is up with Cas.

They have been together for far too long for Dean not to know Cas’ every nuance and every out of character action. Something is happening, and although Dean trusts Cas implicitly, that he’s hiding something from him makes Dean a little anxious.

If anything, Cas has grown even more affectionate over the past few days. They’re pretty hands-on at the best of times, and lately they never seem to be not kissing, but the lingering of Cas’ fingers on his skin has multiplied, there are these secret little smiles that never seem to leave Cas’ lips at the moment, and the constant look of _want_ that seems to be on Cas’ face of late whenever he looks at him just has Dean wondering how they ever make it out of their bedroom on time for anything.

Not that he is complaining about any of these things.

No, whatever it is that is going on with Cas is nothing _bad_ , Dean tells himself firmly, absently cuffing the back of his neck as he waits in line at the checkout. He’s unaware of the people around him, his position in the queue, and he’s half-forgotten what he’s actually put in the basket in his hand.

Dean glances down at the basket and grins, shaking his head at himself. Cas’ favorite wine. Cas’ favorite ice cream. This weird tea _stuff_ that Cas insists on drinking throughout the day as he’s working, in between his numerous coffees of course, and a whole lot of other ingredients that will come together in Dean’s hands to create Cas’ favorite meal.

Dean is a sap. A happy sap, but a sap nonetheless.

So tonight, he’s going to cook Cas’ favorite meal, ply him with his favorite wine, and pry into whatever is going on with him.

Dean slides into the Impala a few minutes later, shoving his sleeve up his arm and grabbing a pen. He’s in no hurry, so he starts a beautiful looping pattern up and down the length of his arm, imagining Cas’ face as he watches.

In the middle he leaves a space, drawing a simple invitation card and writing,

_Dinner’s at seven. Wining and dining you ;) x_

Dean waits for a minute to see if Cas will write anything back, but when he doesn’t feel the familiar tickling up his forearm he shrugs to himself and starts the car. He’s halfway home before he hears his phone ringing, and he scrambles to answer it hands-free, knowing Cas will give him hell if he doesn’t.

“Hey,”

Dean hears, and his eyebrows shoot up a little at how out of breath Cas sounds, as well as his unfamiliar informal greeting. Normally, Cas’ _Hello, Dean_ has him half-melting, but clearly now is not the time for that.

“Hey yourself. You running or something?” Dean asks instead, frowning down at his phone for a moment as though he can see Cas on the screen.

A short snort of laughter follows, and Dean hears Cas adjusting the phone. “You’re the one who always tells me that there is no need to run unless we’re being chased, Dean,”

Dean laughs himself, nodding. “Truth. So? What’s—”

“Can we make it eight?” Cas interrupts, and Dean’s eyebrows shoot up again at how flustered Cas is sounding.

“Uh… sure?” he tells him doubtfully, and most definitely with his interest well and truly piqued.

“Great. Thank you, I am looking forward to it. I will see you later, Dean,” Cas punches out, and before Dean can even really answer him, he hears the phone call disconnect.

Dean frowns down at his phone a little harder, distracted and suddenly feeling uneasy.

* * *

That feeling of unease stays with Dean for the next few hours. Through preparing dinner, looking over some things he needs to for work, and taking a shower. Even when he’s setting the table—and he’s taking out their better glasses for this, because somehow he feels he’s needing to make the effort—there is a sense of something being wrong that lingers on him and Dean really, really doesn’t like.

Not _wrong_ , he reminds himself for what feels like the hundredth time, because he knows at least a part of him is over-reacting. He knows he does that sometimes, even when with Cas, it is completely unnecessary. But something is definitely, definitely different.

It’s eight fifteen by the time Cas breathlessly rushes in, presses Dean back against the kitchen counter and kisses his apologies over and over, until the very slight annoyance Dean had been starting to feel has been replaced with mirth. He wraps his arms tightly around Cas’ waist and allows Cas to kiss him thoroughly, and only stops him when he knows it’s time to check that dinner hasn’t spoiled.

Cas is practically vibrating with excitement, and it seems Dean’s not going to have to prompt him for any answers at all.

“I have something to tell you, Dean,” Cas says haltingly, as though that isn’t something that’s already completely obvious.

Dean nods, bringing dinner over to the table and ushering Cas into a seat as he pours some wine. “Yeah. Figured that, Cas. You been holding out on me?”

For a second Cas looks contrite, and reaches out to thread his fingers through Dean’s in yet another attempt at apology. Dean huffs, knowing he’s right, and slides into the seat opposite, looking back at him expectantly.

“This looks so good. Thank you, Dean,” Cas smiles, taking in the sight of the meal Dean’s prepared for them, and looks back up at him the second Dean snorts.

“Stop changing the subject.” Dean chides, gesturing at him with a fork.

“Of course,” Cas agrees, nodding, but loses himself for a moment because he’s sampling the food and making appreciative sounds that now have Dean distracted.

“So,” Dean prompts then, half-heartedly, his eyes on Cas’ mouth as he eats.

“So,” Cas repeats, his smile growing ever wider, “I could not really speak to you earlier because I had been called into a meeting that went on a lot longer than I was expecting. With a publisher,” he adds, and he looks over at Dean then with a look that’s excited, eager, shy, yet also proud, and Dean’s heart starts hammering in excitement for him.

“Go on,”

“You remember that I told you that I had started writing a novel?”

Dean nods, grinning wide, already fully anticipating where Cas’ confession is going.

“Well. I mentioned to one of my, uh... readers, that I was thinking about writing a book. He asked me to send over what I had, which was just a couple of rough chapters. And… he called me a couple of days ago to go to his office to discuss where I thought the book might be going,”

Dean tries to pretend he’s offended that Cas didn’t tell him this straightaway, but he understands; it had taken a confirmation letter in writing from the gallery confirming they would exhibit his work, before he had told Cas about that first exhibition. So he smiles back, encouraging him to continue, and holds his tongue.

Cas is still enthusiastically eating, but in between bites he pauses, fork midway to his mouth, he manages, “He’s… he’s interested, Dean. He _likes_ it.”

“Of course he likes it,” Dean laughs, incredulous at Cas’ doubt in himself. “You’re awesome, remember?”

Cas blushes, ducking his head, and Dean reaches across the table to grasp his hand.

“You _are_ , Cas. You’ve gotta believe me,” Dean says softly, swiping a thumb over the back of Cas’ hand.

Cas is up and leaning across the table, kissing him hard as though he hadn’t just been doing that a few minutes ago.

“He offered me a deal, Dean,” Cas tells him as he sits back down, in a soft tone that speaks of just how much he really doesn’t believe this is happening. Dean grips his hand tightly as Cas talks about ‘first runs’ and ‘draft copies’ and all sorts of other things Dean’s not too sure of just yet, but will do all he can to find out about now, since this is so important to Cas.

“So,” Dean manages eventually when he’s stopped beaming with pride across the table at him. “That’s… that’s why you’ve been… off this week?”

Cas winces visibly, and takes another bite of food, as if to show Dean just how much he appreciates his cooking. “I… I didn’t know… I didn’t want to say anything until… I mean I should have… I…”

But whatever guilt he might be feeling is unnecessary, and Dean makes that clear by standing, walking around to Cas’ side of the table and crouching down, hands resting on Cas’ thighs.

“I am so, _so_ proud of you, Cas. This is just… I… I’m so proud,” he settles for, and Cas is cupping his face, angling himself down for yet another kiss.

Dinner is finished bathed in the warm glow of Dean’s continual praise, and Cas’ humble excitement.

Much later, when Dean tells Cas that there’s ice cream for dessert, Cas looks at him calculatingly for a moment, then grabs the carton from the freezer himself, along with two spoons, and wraps his fingers through Dean’s once more, tugging him to his feet and along to their bedroom.

* * *

_You are the single best thing that has ever happened to me_

Dean has turned away from his class for a moment to look down at the itching that’s been driving him crazy on his arm for the past twenty minutes, and both smiles and frowns in amusement at the message he sees there.

It isn’t as though they don’t send each other similar messages to this one from time to time—or quite often really—but there’s a tone to this one that for some reason has Dean a little puzzled.

With a quick check that his students are well and truly engrossed in what they are doing Dean snatches up a pen from his desk, and presses the tip of the pen against his skin, debating on what to write back.

_Same, Cas :) Don’t think I ever really lived before we met, you know that, right? x_

Presuming that there won’t be a response for a while, Dean begins a circuit of the room, taking glances at works in progress and giving hints and suggestions where he thinks they’ll be most useful.

His arm starts itching after a couple of minutes.

 _You_ _are_ _my life, Dean. I don’t know how I could ever exist without you_

Something about Cas’ words begin to stir up unease in Dean, and he shakes his head to clear the distraction away as he continues his way around his class. By the time he returns to his desk, he’s decided on what he wants to write back. With a sideways glance over at his hard-working students he slides his sleeve back up his arm, and adds,

 _Never gonna_ _have_ _to exist without me, Cas. I’m yours, for always, remember?_

Cas’ almost instant reply of

_I don’t know what I did to deserve you_

does nothing but stir up even more concerns for Dean.

It’s irrational, he knows, but he also knows Cas, and if Dean allows himself to think about it honestly, that weird feeling he’s been getting about Cas being up to something hasn’t really gone away since he told Dean about his meeting with his publisher. It has shifted, morphed into something else, and Dean’s memory cruelly reminds him then that Cas has been very deliberately locking his laptop screen or phone whenever he’s left Dean alone with either of them for a moment. Not that Dean ever pries when Cas’ stuff is unlocked; it’s just been an unspoken trust between them since the first day they met.

Dean waits until the end of the class before pulling out his phone and typing a quick,

_Is everything okay? x_

And stands frowning down at the screen, willing a response.

Dean’s arm starts tickling almost immediately, and no sooner has he pushed back his sleeve does he see

 _I have_ _you_ _. Of course everything is okay :) x_

Appear on his skin.

It is followed up seconds later by

_I love you, so much x_

And

_Please come straight home when you have finished. I need you_

which does nothing to lessen any of Dean’s fears.

Perhaps thankfully, Dean’s break is cut short by a panicked student worried about an assignment, and that makes him almost late for his next class, so Dean doesn’t have time to worry about Cas any further for the rest of his work day.

But when he’s grabbing his things and heading across the parking lot to the Impala, his certainty that something is wrong sparks up again.

Dean wills himself to drive home steadily, and not race there like all of his instincts are telling him to do. He doesn’t want to think it, but there’s a heavy, ominous feeling around him, and the seconds tick by as though they are counting down to something that is going to upset the happiness he’s found.

Dean scowls at himself in the mirror and shakes his head, but speeds up just a little as he hurries to get home.

* * *

When Dean steps through the door of his and Cas’ apartment, two things assault his senses at once. Firstly, there’s music playing, and as if Cas has timed it perfectly for Dean’s arrival, _Ramble On_ has just started up. And secondly, there is the distinct smell of a pasta dish Cas makes that he knows is Dean’s favorite.

With his mouth watering, Dean heads for the kitchen, and finds Cas standing over the stove and stirring a pot carefully. Dean’s eyes travel up and down Cas from behind; he’s wearing a navy blue shirt that Dean’s told him on more than one occasion is his favorite on him, and paired it with these jeans that fit him just right. Cas is also barefoot, and judging by the way his hair is standing even more on end than normal, he’s not long been out of the shower.

Instinct wins over Dean’s doubts, and he stalks up behind him, sliding his arms around Cas’ waist to pull him back against his chest as he presses a kiss into his neck.

For a second, Cas freezes, but then he’s dropping the spoon into the pot and spinning in Dean’s arms, kissing him enthusiastically.

“You’re home,” he exclaims, and Dean laughs, nodding, trying to keep up with the pace of Cas’ attention.

“Where else would I be?” Dean asks, and Cas grins wide, throwing his arms around Dean’s neck and hugging him tightly. His heart is pounding so erratically that Dean can feel it thumping away at him against his chest; he wraps his arms low around Cas’ waist again and eyes him curiously.

To his surprise, and even horror, Dean can see that Cas’ eyes are bright with unshed tears. He raises his hands to grip Cas lightly by his arms, staring back at him in worry.

“You’ve gotta tell me what’s going on, Cas,” Dean pleads, and he watches as Cas’ lower lip trembles a little before he’s throwing his arms around Dean again, then stepping back away to check on dinner.

“Nothing is going on. It is Friday night, neither of us are working tomorrow, I thought it would be nice for us to have a date night,” Cas tells him over his shoulder.

Dean nods although Cas can’t see it; and like Bobby is always saying to him, he may have been born at night, but it wasn’t _last_ night. Something is definitely, definitely up with Cas.

But for now, he’ll play along, because he’s not sure what else to do.

Dinner is delicious, and Cas is nothing but attentive, keeping Dean very firmly away from doing anything. When they have leisurely eaten their dinner and Cas has stared back at Dean so hard that Dean’s convinced Cas is about to blurt out something awful at any moment, Cas quickly gathers up their plates and returns to the table with new ones, plus a large box from the cafe he’s always working in.

Pie.

Cas forces two slices on him, until Dean is patting his stomach in protest at how full he is, and Cas is laughing at him affectionately and dragging him into the living room, guiding him to sit on their couch. He mumbles something about Dean relaxing; Dean’s offer to do the dishes is brushed off, and he lets his head fall back against the couch to the sound of Cas filling up the sink with water.

Dean must have dozed off for a moment; he wakes to find Cas standing over and watching him with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Cas?” Dean says blearily, sitting up a little from where he’s slumped; he’s met half way by Cas leaning down to kiss him before sitting down beside him and continuing to stare at him intently.

“Tell me about your day,” is all Cas says, and Dean shrugs, sliding his fingers through Cas’ and recounting anything of interest that has happened. Dean has the distinct impression that Cas is only half-listening, stalling for time; he seems more engrossed in trailing his fingertips over Dean’s knuckles than to anything he is saying.

“I have to admit that this month has been a little… busy for me,” Cas eventually says once Dean has stopped speaking.

Dean nods; perhaps too busy, he thinks to himself, and perhaps this is the reason for Cas being so off of late. Cas does push himself, and works really, really hard, almost to the point of obsession sometimes.

“Yeah, you have, Cas,” he settles for instead. “Between your work, and your book, and you know. Meetings and stuff.”

“Not only that,” Cas says softly, and his eyes dart to Dean’s face for barely a second before they are back down on Dean’s hand.

Dean reaches out, gently cupping Cas’ jaw and forcing him to look at him. “Please tell me what’s going on,” he pleads, and Cas holds his gaze for so long that Dean thinks he isn’t going to answer.

Without breaking eye contact, Cas slides his phone out of his pocket. He’s forced to look down for a moment, and Dean sees that he’s thumbing through his gallery. Whatever he’s looking for is an old picture, because it seems to be taking him a while to find it. And when he does, Cas simply turns the phone round, and rests it on Dean’s thigh for him to see.

Dean picks the phone up, looks at the image, and smiles.

“You keep a picture of everything I draw you, Cas?” he asks, and looks over to see Cas nodding.

Dean looks down again. There are two flowers at the base of the wrist, and intricate vines weaving and looping up the entire length of Cas’ forearm. In the middle there is an entwined series of vines, and a simple

_found you_

written in the space in the middle, which is in the shape of a heart.

Dean recognizes it, of course he does; it is what he drew for Cas the day they first met. He looks back up at Cas curiously, his heart giving a loud thud at the intense expression on Cas’ face.

Cas is holding his eye contact again, and it looks to Dean as though he is struggling to find the right words to say.

“I love this,” Cas manages eventually, reaching out a trailing a finger over the image on his phone. “The vines… you have drawn these for me multiple times, and… I feel… they are beautiful, Dean. So difficult to replicate, yet you do, each and every time.”

Dean smiles, shrugging his shoulders. “For you. Anytime, Cas,” he tells him, and again, Cas’ eyes grow bright with tears.

Before Dean can ask though, Cas is looking away, reaching underneath their coffee table and sliding out a folded sheet of paper that he silently rests on Dean’s lap.

Dean unfolds it with one hand, and he smiles, even more confused. Here on the paper is a sketch Dean did of Cas what feels a long, long time ago, edged in that same vine pattern that Dean has come to think of as Cas’ vines; they have become the edge many of his designs, as though Cas is with him in everything he paints or draws.

Which he is, really.

“I—”

But Dean’s words a cut off again by Cas reaching for something else that he’s clearly stashed on the coffee table.

Dean’s heart thuds loudly once more, and his tongue grows thick and heavy in his mouth.

Because if he’s not mistaken, that thing in Cas’ hand is a ring box.

“I didn’t know how to ask you,” Cas is saying, and the blood has rushed to Dean’s ears so quickly that he thinks the room might be spinning.

“And… I wanted them engraved… with this… because it is something that is… it is _us_ , Dean. I have been working with an engraver to attempt to get them exactly how I wanted them. There have been many, many discussions about them, and she has emailed me multiple pictures of works in progress. I… hope you are as pleased with the end result as I am,” he adds, as he slowly pops the box open, quickly removing his phone and the sketch from Dean’s lap to replace it with the box.

Dean reaches out a finger; there, covering the entire width of the band, is Dean’s—or rather Cas’ vines.

“I have tried… multiple times… to think about the perfect words to say to you, Dean,” Cas tells him solemnly, and Dean finds himself trapped in Cas’ gaze. “You would think that someone who spends their entire day writing could come up with the right words to say in this case. But I find I cannot. I have been trying all day to… find something that might tell you just how much you mean to me, and…”

Cas’ voice trails away as the sob that has been threatening to take over Dean finally escapes.

“And the only thing I can think to say to you, Dean,” Cas continues, his own voice breaking, “is just how much… how very much… I love you. And… and that I would be honored… if… only if you want to, that is… if you would accept this ring… and wear it… as my husband,”

Dean is rapidly nodding his head, and his vision is blurring, but he’s holding out a shaking hand for Cas to gently slide the ring down over his finger anyway, before beaming back at him tearily. Cas snags up a second box to show Dean an identical ring for himself, and then he’s eagerly leaning in, kissing him, thumbing away Dean’s tears with a laugh before kissing him again.

“I knew something was wrong,” Dean mumbles against his neck when Cas has woven his arms there to hold him tight. “I knew it,”

“I wouldn’t say _wrong_ , Dean. But of course. You know me better than anyone ever has, or anyone else ever will. And I am terrible at keeping secrets. I hope I did not cause you to worry too much,” he says softly, pulling back a little and staring back at Dean pleadingly with his lower lip trapped between his teeth.

Dean’s eyes fall to Cas’ mouth, and he’s swallowing back another sob, shaking his head at himself before laughing and pulling Cas up onto his lap, nuzzling into his chest and sighing in utter relief at the feel of Cas’ arms wrapping around him.

“I love you too, Cas,” he tells him, smiling in contentment at the feel of Cas kissing the top of his head.

**

They announce their engagement with a picture of their ring-adorned hands sent to all of their nearest and dearest. When the congratulations that come in have worked through shrieks of uncontainable excitement left in messages (Charlie), thumbs up emojis (Benny), and solemn, heartfelt happiness that Dean swears have been typed through tears (Sam, Bobby, and surprisingly, John), their date night continues with talk of possible wedding dates and honeymoon locations, aided by a bottle of champagne that Cas has managed to keep hidden from Dean’s view.

Over the weekend there are more plans discussed, and a lot of celebrating that means they don't leave the apartment again until Monday morning.

They decide that they won't wear their rings until the day of the wedding, and already Dean feels like something is missing from his hand. But mid-morning his ring finger begins to twitch, and he smiles goofily as Cas draws a sloppy pen version there in place of his ring.

Dean draws one back, instantly, and receives a text message from Cas moments later which is nothing more than an image of Cas' hand and a blushing emoji. Dean's class take one look at the ridiculously happy look on Dean's face and put two and two together; the lesson dissolves into congratulations and talk of hopes and fears for their own soulmates.

Dean can't help beaming with pride, because he knows he's lucked out. And he’s honest enough to be able to share with his class that he too once feared he would never find anyone that would love him as Cas does.

The news spreads like wildfire throughout the faculty, and by lunchtime, Dean is dragged, not exactly kicking and screaming, for a celebratory lunch by his colleagues.

He comes home to Cas that afternoon, still smiling ear to ear, and steps into his arms with a long drawn out breath that sounds very much like _you complete me_.

* * *

The date is set for six months, and those six months seem to pass by at an unnatural pace, with time absorbed by things like venues, food tasting, and overly helpful suggestions from everyone they know. Cas and Dean, of course, agree on almost everything; it is other people who bicker and try to put their own mark on the event.

It wouldn't be a wedding without external interference and numerous tantrums, after all.

But Dean and Cas, they are happy, and even if it didn't seem possible, have grown even closer. There is a sense of contentment that surrounds them both now, an assuredness that says they have everything they need in their lives, because they have each other.

As the wedding draws closer, Dean's arm becomes a list and sketchpad of suggestions for their honeymoon road trip. He's keeping it secret from Cas that the last two of the six weeks they have set aside are actually going to be in Italy. He's terrified, thoroughly terrified about the flight, but is reading every technique and trick in the book to ensure he can give this to Cas, because Cas has talked about Italy so many times that Dean feels as though he has already been there. And if he can't overcome his silly little fear of flying for Cas of all people then, well. Then there really is no hope.

But for Cas... Anything.

Cas' arm, however, is an open book, where he practices and rewrites snippets of his vows that Dean reads and feels a lump raise up in his throat at every single time. When he's not grinning at his arm and shaking his head in disbelief at his good luck, he's subtly wiping away tears. And when he's not doing that, he's annotating Cas' messages, like always. Because some traditions should always be kept.

* * *

Their wedding day arrives, and Dean sneaks out of bed early, smirking as Cas grumbles at the loss of Dean's heat from his arms.  He stands and watches him curl in on himself for a moment, then quietly shuts the door, and heads into the kitchen to prepare the wedding breakfast to end all wedding breakfasts.

Dean mutters to himself as he opens and closes cupboard doors in the unfamiliar kitchen; they're staying at Sam's, because this town is not only where Dean grew up, but as Cas reminds him regularly, this is where their lives _began_.

Tonight they're booked into a hotel that is way more luxurious than either of them would have chosen for themselves. But John had been insistent on it as a wedding gift: Dean's very vivid imagination has already enjoyed the multiple ways he intends to put the two nights they have there to good use, and it is this smile at those thoughts that Sam walks in on and grimaces at, with an adamant, 'I do NOT want to know," before he's putting on coffee.

Dean and Sam work around each other in the kitchen seamlessly, with Dean stacking up a tray to carry to his and Cas' bedroom whilst leaving an ample amount of breakfast on the table for Sam and Jess. Jess appears in the kitchen doorway before Dean can leave, gazes up at him watery-eyed and smiling, and plants a kiss on his cheek before she will let him pass. Not that Dean would, or could, ever deny his sister-in-law anything.

Cas is mostly awake by the time Dean is carefully sitting back down on the bed beside him and balancing the breakfast tray on his lap. Cas smiles down at their breakfast and leans over to kiss his thanks, careful not to jostle the tray.

They eat in silence. Today is going to be a day full of words, and for now they have nothing that they really need to say out loud. They have their vows and their speeches memorized, they have planned everything exactly as they wanted it; all that's left now is for them to enjoy their day and formalize what for them has long been a certainty.

Sam knocks after a while, covering his face and demanding Dean come out so they can get ready. Dean leans over and gives Cas one last long kiss, and allows himself to be dragged physically down the hallway and unceremoniously shoved into a bathroom.

Dean's shower is interrupted by Cas writing

_I love you_

And a long trail of kisses down the length of his arm.

Dean smiles, and as soon as he is able, grabs a pen and begins a series of hearts in Cas' vine pattern, until Sam snatches the pen away from him and tells him to get ready.

The journey to the wedding reception is a blur of nerves and excitement, and Dean suddenly finds himself walking down an aisle, walking towards Cas, walking towards the rest of his life.

Cas turns to him then with such utter joy on his face, that Dean is coming to pieces and blurring back together all over again, as he closes the final gap between them and breathes out shakily, taking Cas’ hand in his.

Either side of them are everyone they love beaming back at them, some with tears, and some with such happiness for the two of them on their faces that they look as though they are about to explode.

Dean turns very slightly to give Cas a wink, and the ceremony begins.

Their vows for each other are stuttered out through face-splitting smiles and happy tears, and Dean finds himself wishing there was some way to actually capture this feeling of sheer elation that is washing through him right now with the reality of their marriage finally sinking in for him.

And where once Dean tentatively slid his fingers up and over Cas' palm to trace his artwork on Cas' arm, now he's confidently sliding a ring down over Cas' finger, as the coolness and weight of his own ring lays reassuringly against his skin.

Because Cas has him, and he has Cas, and once upon a time Dean had thought he would never get to feel like this. Complete. Safe. Loved. Belonging.

As though he is reading Dean’s mind, as Cas leans in to claim his first kiss as Dean's husband, he first pauses to whisper endearments and promises that are for Dean’s ears only, reminding him that he feels equally whole because of _him_. Then he’s grinning, raising Dean’s hand up so that he can kiss the back of it and triumphantly mutter, “Taken,” against it, before pulling Dean into a kiss that results in there not being a dry eye left in the room.

They turn to face their loved ones and the room erupts into hollers and cheers, but the noise fades into the background for Dean and Cas as they look at one another and their entwined hands, and feel just one thing: _whole_.

 


End file.
